


Final Descent

by Shakespeares_Girl



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Airplanes, Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Disasters, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakespeares_Girl/pseuds/Shakespeares_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the plane he's serving on suffers a mid-air collision, Kris Allen takes over flying the plane until ATC can figure out what to do.  Kris is just a flight attendant--he can't fly a 747, and he wouldn't dare try to land one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Descent

**Author's Note:**

> This came about after a marathon of those old Airport movies. You know the ones. Where there's some horrifying mid-air disaster and no one's sure they're going to survive and everyone cheers when they finally get back on solid ground? Yeah. That. Specifically the one with Charlton Heston, where the flight attendant has to fly the plane and Helen Reddy plays a nun who sings about self-empowerment.
> 
> I would like it noted, though, that this is much less disaster movie and much more slightly-suspenseful romance.
> 
> (Cotton Candy Bingo prompt: plane rides)

Adam wakes up out of a sound sleep, jarred awake with no real idea of why. He'd been dreaming of flying, he realizes. Flying, and then falling out of the sky. It takes him a moment to come back from the open skies to the cabin of the airliner he's actually on. As he reorients himself, he thinks back to what woke him up, but he can't think through the sleep-haze and dream-fog. He pulls his earbuds out and puts his iPod away, looks around the cabin for a flight attendant, someone to ask about the flight conditions. No one's around. Adam frowns. He reaches up and presses the call button, then sits back to wait.

Half an hour later, no one's responded. He presses the button again, turning off the signal. It's still dark enough outside that he's tempted to write it off as crew falling asleep on duty, except for that nagging feeling that something's gone wrong, that something is distinctly not-right. And the fact that no flight crew he's ever met or flown with has been negligent enough to all fall asleep at the same time.

When a worried flight attendant comes hurrying down the aisle, Adam catches her attention and waves her over. “Excuse me, Miss,” he says, keeping his voice soft, “but could you tell me what's going on please? There's no flight crew anywhere to be found, you're the first one I've seen in half an hour or more.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” she murmurs back. “We're having some technical difficulties, but everything should be fine in just a few more minutes. Nothing to worry about.”

“Miss,” he says, keeping his tone as even as possible. “I'm a pilot. I understand you're not allowed to talk about it, but if you could just--”

“Sir,” she snaps, then sighs, her eyes darting to the other passengers. “I'll have someone bring you a drink right away,” she finishes. Then she disappears. A few minutes later she comes back and hands him a glass of warm Coke on a paper napkin.

“Thank you,” he nods. When she's gone, and when he's made sure his seat mate is truly asleep, he checks the napkin under his drink. Mid-air collision is spelled out in careful handwriting. Adam nods to himself and tucks the napkin away. For now, all they can do is sit and wait.

* * *

Kris is on duty in first class when the airplane shudders and jerks out of nowhere. Kris' stomach lurches, and he has to grab onto the nearest seat back to keep his balance. Quickly, he finishes his walk-through and bolts up the stairs to the cockpit. There's already a flight attendant outside, the other senior flight attendant on board.

“What's going on, Kara?” he asks, voice low. No need to spread his panic.

“I'm not sure. I was on my way up when—look, we need to get into that cockpit, but they're not opening up. You have to help me force the door,” Kara explains.

“What? Are you sure—I mean, if they've locked themselves in, then--”

“No, Kris, it's not a hostage or a terrorist situation. I—I think it's a mid-air collision. Probably something fell in front of the door and that's why we can't open it. They just don't know we want to get in.”

Kris nods. “All right. On three,” he agrees.

It takes surprisingly little effort to get inside the cockpit. Once he and Kara are in, it takes him a moment to comprehend what he's seeing. The pilot is slumped over the controls, pushing the throttle to accelerate with his body. Kara dashes forward to pull him off the controls and gives a little scream when her hands come away bloody. Kris moves toward the co-pilot, puts a hand on his shoulder, but from the loll of the co-pilot's head and the smashed-in windshield, it's fairly obvious he's already dead. Kris swallows back the bile rising in his throat and looks at where the navigator should be. The seat is empty, the navigator—a young man only a few years older than Kris—is lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Kris turns away and takes a few deep breaths.

“Okay,” he says, exhaling as he does. “Okay, we need to get the girls up here and explain what's going on. And someone needs to move the—move them to the crew quarters.”

“But—but the plane, who's going to fly the plane?” Kara asks, voice hoarse suddenly. Kris wonders if she knew the pilots well, if either of them were important to her. He knows so little about Kara, they've just been put on the same flight rotations and they haven't run into each other often either.

Kris shakes himself and clears his throat to answer. “I don't know. But that's not something I can worry about right now, either. So go get the girls together, and I'll start moving the pilot back to the crew quarters.”

* * *

It takes nearly half an hour to move the bodies and explain to everyone what's going on. After the cockpit is cleared Kris sits in the pilot's seat and picks up the radio. He thinks of his ex-boyfriend, Adam, of helping him study for his flight exams, and flips through radio channels until he finds the one reserved for emergencies.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” Kris calls, keeping his voice as clear and strong as he can. “Calling from Northwest Airlines flight 418, Mayday. Declaring emergency. I—um,” Kris stops, forces himself to think, to stay calm. “Declaring emergency,” he says again, swallowing back a wave of panic. They need all the information you can give them, he coaches himself, hearing Adam's voice in his mind calling practice maydays from the study guide, always calm and steady. “We have suffered a mid-air collision with an unknown object. Weather is clear. I—I'm not sure of our heading. We're flying to Seattle from New York—altitude is—is . . .” Kris casts about for the altimeter, his eyes sliding over the instrument panel and back again, not finding what he needed. He can't identify anything on the panel in front of him. “Oh god, I don't know. I don't know altitude and I don't know our fuel level, I—I can't read any of the instruments. I'm—I'm not a pilot, I'm just a flight attendant—I—”

“Northwest Airlines flight four-one-eight, this is Denver International ATC,” a voice crackles over the radio. “Did you say you were a flight attendant?”

“Yes,” Kris says, helplessly. “There's no one else left.”

“Both your pilot and your co-pilot are dead? No navigator?” the voice asks.

“The navigator and the co-pilot are dead. Captain Cowell is unconscious, possibly comatose,” Kris explains.

“There's no one else?” the voice repeats.

“Look, I don't like it either,” Kris snaps, voice rising, “but I'm all we've got so unless you want a 747 to crash over Colorado this morning, start figuring out how to get us a pilot.”

“You watch too many movies, dawg,” the voice says, and Kris can hear a hopeless laugh through the static of the radio. “Okay, look. My name's Randy. I'm gonna try to get you through this, but I'll be blunt. It's not gonna be easy, and it's not gonna be like the movies, where you magically land perfectly your first try.”

“Okay. I'm Kris, Randy,” Kris introduces himself.

“Nice to meet you, dawg. Now, you're about an hour out from Denver,” Randy explains. “You see the fuel gauge? It should be on the left, just above the center console.”

“I see it,” Kris says.

They spend the next fifteen minutes figuring out how much fuel is left (enough) where they're at altitude wise (as long as they stay level, they'll be fine) and whether or not the auto pilot will land for Kris (it won't). There also isn't a way to get a pilot into the plane, so their best bet is for a qualified pilot to talk Kris through it. Once they've figured things out, Kris sends Kara to go make an announcement that due to unforeseen circumstances, they're going to have to land in Denver.

She leaves, her face grim, and Randy signs off to go see if he can track down a 747 pilot not in the air. Kris sits in the cockpit, facing out into the wind, and waits.

* * *

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the head flight attendant's voice comes on the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that due to--” her voice catches a tiny bit, just enough that Adam, who's paying attention, notices, “--unforeseen circumstances, we're going to have to land in Denver instead of traveling all the way to Seattle. Northwest Airlines will help you find connecting flights heading to Seattle, and will reimburse you for any missed connections. We regret any inconvenience this may cause.”

Adam doesn't bother listening to the rest of the announcement. He unbuckles his seat belt and moves into the aisle.

“Where are you going?” his seatmate asks, pulling fretfully at her blanket and blinking sleepily up at him.

“Don't worry,” he assures her. “I'm just headed up front to speak with a flight attendant about connecting flights.”

She nods and he hurries away, to the front of the aircraft. “Excuse me,” he taps a flight attendant on the shoulder. She looks shell-shocked and weary. “Are you the lead?”

“Oh, y-yes. Sort of. Kris is—yes. I am. What can I do for you, sir?” she asks, shaking herself out of her stupor.

“My name is Adam Lambert, I'm a pilot with this airline. I'd like to offer my services. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know, please,” he says.

“Oh my god, are you really a pilot?” she gasps, clutching his arm. “Please come with me.” She leads him up to the cockpit and rests a hand on the door, then turns to him. “There's—we don't—the pilot's unconscious in the crew quarters, and everyone else in the cockpit at the time of the crash died. Kris has been talking with Denver ATC, but they're not sure how to get us down safely. If you—are you cleared to fly a 747?”

“I am,” Adam nods. “Why don't you go get your staff ready for an emergency landing, and I'll help—what did you say her name was, Kris?”

“Not she,” the flight attendant shakes her head. “Kris Allen. He's my right-hand man. I don't know what I would have done without him this flight.”

“You'll be all right,” Adam promises, ignoring the way his stomach swoops at the name Kris Allen. “You'd better hurry there isn't much time before we're over Denver.”

The flight attendant hurries away and Adam turns to the cockpit door. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open. “Kris,” he says. The last time he saw Kris, they'd fought about something stupid and petty—time in the air versus time on the ground, or whether or not Kris could or even should work the same flights as Adam. It's been nearly a year, and Adam honestly regrets every minute they spent apart, especially looking at him now.

Kris looks exactly the same, sweet face, dark eyes, ridiculous hair always spiky when it should be smooth. His flight attendant uniform is still spotless, despite the things he's probably been through in the past hour. Kris is staring at Adam as if he's seen a ghost.

“Kris,” Adam says again, and puts a hand out, wanting to touch his face but stopping before he makes contact. “Are you--”

That's all he manages to get out before Kris is scrambling out of the pilot's seat and flinging arms around Adam's neck. “Oh my god, it's really you,” he sighs into Adam's neck. “I thought it was my imagination, that I was hallucinating or dreaming, but you're really here, and—and I don't understand how?”

“I'm a passenger,” Adam explains, trying to indicate his pinstripe suit but giving up when Kris won't let go long enough to look anyway. He shivers in Adam's arms, and Adam pushes him away a little. “You must be freezing,” he says, and takes off his suit jacket to wrap around Kris. “Go sit in the co-pilot's seat and follow my instructions. You've done a wonderful job so far, Kris, I couldn't even tell there wasn't a pilot up here until your co-worker told me.”

Kris obeys, still shivering despite Adam's jacket pulled tight around his shoulders. Adam rolls up his sleeves, ignoring the cold, and settles himself into the pilot's chair. He puts on the headset and calls Denver.

“Calling Denver tower, calling Denver tower, this is Northwest Airlines flight 418,” he says.

“Northwest 418, this is Denver tower,” comes a voice. “This isn't Kris, may I ask your name?”

“Denver tower, my name is Adam Lambert. I'm a qualified pilot for Northwest,” Adam explains.

“Northwest 418, my name is Randy and you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, dawg,” the voice sighs. “Only question is, can you fly a 747?”

“Everyone's asking me that today,” Adam jokes. “I wonder why?”

“Randy, this is Kris,” Kris says from the co-pilot's seat. He rolls his eyes at Adam and smiles, relieved and fond. “Adam's qualified on the 747. I should know, I helped him study for his flight exams.”

“Excellent news,” Randy says. “Adam, Kris, good luck. I've got people clearing the runway for you as we speak. Let me know when you're in Denver airspace. Over and out.”

“Roger that,” Adam agrees. “Over and out.”

He looks over at Kris, who hasn't taken his eyes off of Adam yet. “We're going to be okay,” Adam promises.

“I know,” Kris smiles, then shakes his head. “It's silly, but I knew as soon as you said my name. Everything's going to be fine.”

They fly in silence for a while, Adam testing the controls, seeing what works and what doesn't, where he'll have to compensate and what he can and can't rely on. When they reach Denver airspace, Adam calls the Denver tower again. Randy directs him to a holding pattern and a runway, and Adam spouts off the information he now has about the flight controls.

Five minutes later, Adam is circling above Denver International Airport, and Kara is making the announcement that they will be making an emergency landing.

“All right, Adam,” Randy's voice crackles in their ears. “We're ready for you whenever you're set up for your descent.”

“Roger that, will advise upon descent,” Adam says into the mike, then takes off his headset and reaches over to tug Kris' off, too. “I can land this plane, Kris,” he says. “I promise.”

Kris grabs Adam's hand and squeezes it tight. “I know,” he says. His hand is cold and Adam sees the way his smile shakes a little, just a tiny wobble as he glances away for a moment.

Adam takes a breath, checks quickly that everything is stable for the moment, then leans across the center console and pulls Kris into a kiss. It's quick and sweet and it makes Kris' breath catch in his throat. Adam's heart aches as he pulls away. He already lost Kris once, he doesn't want to make that same mistake again; doesn't want to let him get away a second time. There's no time to contemplate that now, though. Adam returns his attention to the controls in front of him, takes the final turn around Denver International and points the plane into it's final descent.

His fingers are pale, bloodless white around the throttle, even though he knows he can do this, even though he's landed planes in worse weather, without landing gear. He's never done it with passengers, though, and the nerves jolt through him and both shake his confidence and steady his hands. Randy is in his ear, telling him the runway is all clear, they've cleared most of the concourse, all he has to do is land the plane and get it to a full stop and the flight attendants will take it from there. There's a soft ping from the dash as the landing gear locks into place, and Adam lets out a soft breath. One less thing to worry about.

It's over ridiculously fast after that. One minute they're still high above the airport, the next he's taxiing the plane to a halt, braking slower than necessary just to be sure he doesn't jolt anything loose and cause a bigger problem. Faintly he can hear the cheer ring through the cabin as the passengers and flight attendants realize they're safe on the ground once more. He turns and looks at Kris, sitting stunned in the co-pilot's seat, and thinks I'm going to marry him. He smiles and takes Kris' hand and kisses his knuckles.

* * *

Kris isn't sure of anything from the moment Adam steps into the cockpit until they're on the ground, and he can hear the rest of the plane cheering. He looks over at Adam then, phantom kiss from minutes earlier tingling across his lips, and becomes painfully aware that Adam's staring at him, watching him shiver and wrap himself in Adam's jacket, the familiar scent of Adam's cologne, Adam's sweat, Adam's hair product all mingling around him, creating an air of safety he doesn't really believe.

Adam's look changes from one of concern to one of—of something Kris doesn't dare name. If he had any hope that Adam still loved him, he'd say passion or adoration, but those things can't be. Adam's been out of his life for over a year now, and there's simply no possibility that he might still harbor feelings for Kris. Not feelings like Kris still has for Adam, in any case.

But then Adam's kissing Kris' hand, and Kris can't do anything but helplessly clutch Adam's jacket closer around him. There's a moment when Kris thinks Adam's going to do more, but then he reluctantly lets Kris' hand go and turns to the controls in front of him.

Adam locks the brakes into position and begins shutting down the engines, smiling softly the whole time. Kris just watches him, still shaking but for a different reason now. It seems to take ages for Adam to finish the post-flight checklist, and once it's done, he stands and holds out a hand to Kris. Kris takes it on instinct, stands up and pushes himself into Adam's arms. Adam keeps a hand on his shoulder or at the small of his back the whole time while they disembark and make their statements to the authorities. He doesn't stop touching, and for that Kris is grateful, especially when the representative from the FAA insinuates that perhaps Kris is to blame for some of the damage, since he was only a flight attendant and trying to perform a Captain's job.

Once they've finished making their statements and have been cleared, Adam leads Kris out of the administrative wing and out into the airport proper. They're walking down a broad hallway, hand in hand, Kris pulling his overnight bag behind him, Adam carrying a briefcase and a garment bag, when suddenly Adam stops, drops the things he's holding, and grabs Kris' face in his hands. Kris sucks in a breath, and then Adam's kissing him, sucking at his mouth and flicking his tongue in tiny licks over Kris' lips. Kris whimpers, finds himself clutching at Adam's wrists and shoulders, scraping his nails up into Adam's hair and opening to Adam's kiss, to his mouth. Kris makes a desperate noise into Adam's mouth and Adam hums something that turns into a moan. Adam's fingers splay across Kris' face and into his hair, and Adam pulls him closer, slides his tongue along the inside of Kris' cheek, and Kris can't help it, he just shudders against Adam and lets him have his way, kissing back when he can but mostly just holding on with all his might.

Kris can't quite catch a full breath, his senses are overwhelmingly full of Adam, of his mouth and his hands and his scent and his warmth, and even when Adam gives a last, sucking nip to Kris' lower lip and pulls away to press a string of kisses along his jaw to his ear Kris can't take a full breath.

“Kris,” Adam breathes, fingers tightening against Kris' skin, “Kris.”

“God, Adam,” Kris whispers back. He can't stop the broken whine that escapes his lips, and Adam tries to shift away, but Kris grabs at his collar and buries his face in Adam's neck. “Don't let go.”

“No, Kris, I won't,” Adam promises. “I won't. I--” he stops and huffs a short, sad little laugh. “I love you. I won't let go.”

“Adam,” Kris says, voice shaking, and it's all he can say for a while, just “Adam, Adam, Adam,” over and over and over again, until Adam's pulling him into another kiss, soft and easy and Kris wraps his arms around Adam's neck and lets himself be kissed.

Finally, finally, Adam pulls away and lets Kris breathe, even though Kris would prefer to suffocate if it kept Adam close to him. He breathes in and looks up at Adam's face, that same unnameable look of passion and adoration and love playing across the familiar features, and Kris pulls Adam back in, close, and whispers in his ear, “I love you, too.”


End file.
